


Costume Malfunction

by Skyesurfer12



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Halloween, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyesurfer12/pseuds/Skyesurfer12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck and Casey strike a bargain at Halloween, thinking nothing can go wrong this year.</p>
<p>A super spy badass and a genius should know better by now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Costume Malfunction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asphaltcowgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphaltcowgrrl/gifts).



****Costume Malfunction**  
  
** “Close your eyes.” Morgan held two bags aloft with reverence usually reserved for a bootleg disc-copying device. “And no peeking.”  
  
“Tell him I’m not playing this game,” Casey said, not affording him so much as a glance. “Also tell him that I just disinfected where he’s standing.”  
  
“Uh, Morgan, maybe you –”  
  
“Does he really think I can’t hear him?”  
  
Chuck slanted a look to the side, where his boyfriend was cleaning bits of roasted free-range chicken and steamed organic broccoli with lemon zest from the tray of Clara’s high chair. “Well, he knows, Morgan, but see, that’s the thing. He doesn’t really care.”  
  
Morgan lowered the bags, now that the moment had been ruined. “Wait. Is Clara here?”  
  
“She is,” Chuck confirmed, quite proud of himself for handling her costume without Casey’s oversight. “She’s in the _bwig gwirl_ room –”  
  
A sharp snap of the dishcloth made Chuck turn. He took one look at Casey’s scowl and had to roll his eyes. “Okay, okay. Clara’s in the _bathroom_ ,” he amended, lifting two fingers in air quotes, “because she doesn’t need any … _blankety-blank_ drivel to confuse her budding and formative speech patterns. Unquote.”  
  
Morgan’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Dude. Your man-bear is taking this way too seriously. She’s two! It’s our God-given right to talk to – Cwara!” As if on cue, a tiny black and white spotted calf bounded around the corner. “Is that …Cwara? She _swo_ sweet.” He hunched down and held his arms out. “Let me see da baby moo-moo. Look! It’s a mini moo!”  
  
Clara tipped her chin, making the tiny pink and white plush ears bob with the movement. The snug cow hood framed her little round face, a few unruly brown curls already sticking out the sides. The miracle was that the white jumpsuit with black cow blotches could contain the bundle of energy held within. “Not mini-moo,” she said, pronouncing each syllable. “Ba-by cow.”  
  
 _“Cwara,_ where are you going?” Morgan asked, lowering his arms when she whizzed by to wrap herself around a bulky leg. “Not him!”  
  
Casey put on that smug look and automatically lifted her, placing the small cow on his hip. “Jes – geez. Talk to her like a person, for Chr – crying out loud, eh? Not like some pantywaist. She doesn’t understand that overly cutesy babble.”  
  
“She’s two!” Morgan sputtered. “Chuck, a little help here.”  
  
“A _mature_ two,” Casey corrected before Chuck could pipe up. It was a study in mechanics and aerodynamics to keep Clara secure while he went back to ridding germs from the legs of the highchair, but he managed without a hitch. “Besides, she’ll be three in April. Don’t forget that.”  
  
“Does your boyfriend hear himself?” Morgan wondered. “Does he know she’s a toddler?”  
  
“Well.” Chuck thought about it. “No and no, Morgan.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, deliberately eyeing Casey, then his best friend. “And let me remind you – both of you. Keep me out of this. Whenever I get in the middle of one of your spats, well, one of you withholds cheat codes, and the other withholds making … dinner.”  
  
“Not –?” Morgan looped the fingers of one hand and made an obscene gesture with the other. “So being riled doesn’t stop –” Again with the finger. “Look at us, Chuck. Both with hot pieces who don’t mind a little angry, and may I add, hot –”  
  
“Does the idiot know I keep loaded g-u-n-s in the house?”  
  
“– animal-like make-up sex!” Morgan waved his hands in the air. “Man, that is so cool.”  
  
“Tell him,” Casey said, cocking his head to the side, “that when I take my hands off the cow ears, I will kill him if he says that again. Even better, I will find a way to kill him _twice_ if he says that in front of someone whose verbal skills are expanding as rapidly as his stupidity. Copy?”  
  
“Copy,” Chuck replied, biting down on his bottom lip before the smile broke out. How Casey had set her on the table so quickly was a mystery, but the way the trained assassin slash (overly) protective uncle was now covering her floppy ears was … kind of adorable. “You do know she can’t hear out of those, right, Casey? Oh! But if you hold her like that, I can get a picture to send to Ellie.”  
  
“Can you do it with a broken arm?”  
  
“Uh, well no –”  
  
“Then you might want to rethink that strategy.”  
  
“Chuck, will you tell your g-u-n wielding man meat that his threats mean nothing to us? Seriously, dude, think about it.” Idly, Morgan began sorting through a few DVDs left on the table. “He’s not gonna break your arm, and hurting _me_ is the same as hurting you – and we both know he won’t let that happen. You’re his yen, man. You scratch his itch. You –”  
  
“Morgan, really,” Chuck cut in, blocking Casey’s path. “That’s not a good idea right now. True, he may not kill you, but hurt – very bad hurt – is not out of the question.”  
  
Casey grunted. “Not even a question of _if_.” He muttered something under his breath, but it was Russian from the sounds of it, and since the baby hadn’t cracked open the plastic on that version of her Rosetta Stone software, Chuck guessed it didn’t violate the No Cursing in Front of the Baby rule.   
  
“Wait a minute. You said ‘send to Ellie?’ Where ... is she? The Captain?”  
  
“Nothing gets past you,” Casey observed. Carefully, he set a tiny pair of cottony hooves on the floor, patted her stuffed horns, and picked up his spray bottle. “Obviously, they are out of t-o-w-n.”  
  
“But, it’s Halloween! How could they – they’re _gone_?”  
  
“Well, they ….” Chuck sighed. He hated to explain it again, knowing it was killing Ellie. “Back in July, Awesome and Ellie signed up for an Infectious Diseases conference in San Diego … without really noticing they’d be gone for Halloween.”  
  
“They couldn’t get out of it?”  
  
Chuck gave in to the urge of tugging on a cow tail as Clara toddled past him. “Guess the hospital had already paid for the seminar. Ellie tried to find someone else to take her place, but –”  
  
“It’s _Halloween_ –”  
  
“Ergo, no one would swap dates.”  
  
“Dude. Tragic.” Morgan shrugged. “So this … means –”  
  
“That the highly educated are also society’s most highly moronic,” Casey said under his breath. “Yeah, that’s the way I see it too.”  
  
“ _John_.” Chuck shook his head with a warning. “Just because you’re talking softly doesn’t mean she didn’t hear m-o-r-o-n.”  
  
“You let him in,” Casey grumbled.  
  
“Mm-hmm. A crack at my expense.” Morgan smiled down at Clara and held out his hands. “I detect a little brittleness between my bestie and his beastie. I have a feeling the big guy is reconsidering the _deal_.”  
  
“Where do you think you’re going with those?” The squirt bottle of undefined disinfecting agents took aim at Morgan’s hands. Like rapid gunfire, Casey sprayed them liberally before the smaller man could react. “Chr- criminy, God knows where they’ve been. Okay, clean hands. Now you can _look_ at her.”   
  
“Hey! Watch it. Bro, control your Hulk.”  
  
“It’s not your fault, Morgan. You could be on to something.” Chuck straightened a bit and he couldn’t stop the small, know-it-all grin. “I think he wants to back out. But I won’t let him.”  
  
Casey growled at the word _let_ , making both of them jump just a bit.  
  
“Okay. The deal. Let’s do this.” Morgan rubbed his hands together gleefully and retrieved the shopping bags. “To the right,” he explained with the air of a game-show host, “we have the costume my platonic life partner picked out for his … not-so-platonic life partner. And on the left, we have the outfit our surly soldier selected – man, say that three times fast – for his long-legged boy toy and playmate.”  
  
Chuck raised his hand. “I prefer equal companion or lifetime partner.”  
  
Both Casey and Morgan rolled their eyes.   
  
“Anyway, this is the deal,” Morgan went on, the game-show host getting way more excited than at least one of the contestants. “The bags have been sealed. And as far as I know, there has been no peeking since being dropped off at my locker. You have to wear the costume – no questions asked.” He lifted the bags. “Gentlemen, let the fantasy begin.”  
  
“This better be clean, Bartowski,” Casey told him, patting a tiny cow head since Clara had found a leg to cling onto again. “Don’t want to have to explain to your sister why she’s regressed in her language skills.”  
  
Chuck pointed a crooked grin and crossed his heart. “Clean. I promise.” He leaned over to Morgan and whispered, “But get ready, Morgan. Sexy as hell.”   
  
Ignoring that – or maybe playing it up a bit – Casey folded his arms over his chest, briefly focusing his attention on the bag he had brought for Chuck before snatching the other. “Better be worth it,” he mumbled, heading to the bedroom to change clothes. “And don’t you even _think_ about taking your eyes off of her.”  
  
-x-  
  
“My God. Dude. The Original Smuggler. The Rebel.”   
  
The best friends stood at the bottom of the staircase, eyes wide, as Casey slowly sauntered down steps. The black boots, nearly up to his knees, came into view first. Skin-tight dark pants, a wide belt buckle and holster hanging low on his hips were next. A slim black vest, barely reaching his waist, had a few pockets for ammo, which should’ve pleased him. The ivory-colored plain shirt was tame, except that Chuck had taken the time to remove the top half dozen buttons or so, ensuring it would show off a great deal of hard chest. And, whoa, chest hair. That was the way _he_ wore it, after all.   
  
“I can’t believe this … you finally get your fantasy, man!” Morgan blurted. Chuck raised his hands to shush him, but the little man was on a roll. “The outlaw with a heart of gold. Reckless … sarcastic – not that Casey needed a costume for that. God! You’ve been thinking about this since eighth grade, dude!"  
  
“I have n-not!” Chuck stammered.  
  
“Okay, fine. Ninth grade.” Morgan put a hand on Chuck’s shoulder to shove him forward. “You get to do the nasty with Han Solo!”  
  
“Tell the moron I have a question for him.” Casey reached the bottom step and moved his hand to the holster. “Did he notice this get-up came with a g-u-n?”   
  
“It’s a b-l-a-s-t-e-r,” Chuck and Morgan answered in unison, and then looked sheepishly at each other.  
  
“In- _ter_ -rest-ting.” Morgan put a finger on his cheek, thinking hard. “The New Hope version, I see. Not the ‘Trapped in a Cylinder of Carbonite’ version ….” He stopped to demonstrate his imitation of a man sealed in a giant ice cube tray. “Though, being frozen like that _might_ put a damper on the _fantasy_ part of the night, hmm?”   
  
Chuck swatted at his upraised hands and turned beet red. “It has nothing … to do with that.”  
  
“You done, girls?” Casey stood taller, making the rebel uniform stretch and pull in thought-provoking ways. “We’ve talked about nerd gibberish. It’s one of the no-fly rules.” Turning, he raised a brow at Chuck and smirked. “And you. Close your mouth. Gonna get slobber on the carpet.”  
  
“But … this is so cool.” Chuck couldn’t stop the grin. “Best. Halloween. Ever.”  
  
“Hey. Princess Leia.” Casey snapped his fingers when his boyfriend seemed to zone out. “Time for you to live up to your part of the deal.”  
  
Chuck opened his mouth to protest – he wanted to savor this a bit longer – but Morgan shoved the bag at his chest and pointed him towards the stairs. “Your grizzly bear is right, dude. Let’s see it.”  
  
-x-  
  
“C’mon, Chuck,” he heard Morgan plea from the other side of the bedroom door. “Trick or treating is going to start in a few minutes! Isn’t that right, Cw – Clara?”  
  
“Yes! Let’s go _ooo_ , Unca Chuck!” This was followed by a deep, proud chuckle.  
  
“Really, Casey?” The kid slouched against the door, and his head fell back with a thump. “Manipulating a two year old?”  
  
“She came up with that all on her own,” Casey argued, then immediately lowered his voice to whisper, “That’s my girl.”  
  
“I heard that!”   
  
“Dude! We have to go. All the full size bars will be gone, and we’ll be stuck with fun size. Those things are just an insult!” Chuck felt the door shifting behind him as someone fiddled with the knob. “It can’t be that bad, man.”  
  
More deep laughter. “Hey, Morgan, why don’t you talk to Han Solo out there and found out where the other half of my costume went?”  
  
“That would be a violation of the rules, John,” he heard Morgan say. “You were supposed to keep it clean. You knew both of you would be trick-or-treating with Clara while wearing the fantasy garb, right?”  
  
“It is clean,” Casey answered. “Just short, that’s all.”   
  
“Shorter than last year’s Venus-in-white slash hooker-on-Hollywood?”  
  
“Makes that one look like a prom gown. Eh, Bartowski?” Casey’s voice shifted from amused to stern. “Now, open the door. Clara wants to get going … and I’d like to see what my money bought tonight.”  
  
“Fine,” Chuck muttered. “You’ll just pick the lock anyway, so let’s get this over with.” He flung the door open, braced himself, and strode into the hallway. “Laugh it up. Let’s hear it. Get it out of your system.”  
  
Morgan stared, and it occurred to Chuck that for once his best friend was at a loss for words. He absorbed all of it without moving, not a twitch or a smile to be seen.   
  
Then, “Dude! You are a freaking badass! Look at you!”  
  
For an ungodly reason, Chuck did look down, and cringed. Okay, so maybe on the outside, he appeared to be a badass, but his best friend wasn’t working with all of the Intel. “Morgan, before you get –”  
  
“The hat of a _desperado_. Long coat. Dressed in black head to toe.” Morgan punched his arm. “He made you cool!”  
  
“Please stop saying that,” Chuck begged. Yes, admittedly, the black felt cowboy hat – not one of those cheapie imitations, but a genuine one – and the long dark duster, sweeping past his calves, did make him feel dangerous. Casey-like even, and maybe a bandit himself compared to Han.   
  
Until the cover was lifted, that is. Because under the suede coat Casey had picked out …. there was very little else to go on. The clingy black t-shirt would’ve been doable, but his bottom half? No. Just no. The excuse for shorts was the accident that happened when Daisy Dukes were mated with a Greg Louganis Speedo. Young and reckless ranger became Olympic-swim-team-southern-whore by the time he got to the middle button of the coat.   
  
“Morgan, you don’t want to see the rest of it. Not that there is much to see,” Chuck added, shooting a sour look at his boyfriend, who had been suspiciously silent until that moment.   
  
“Yeah?” Casey’s voice got throaty, so he cleared it and started again. “Come out here … where we can see you.” He broke into a lazy grin and shielded Clara’s eyes. The appreciative look put a flush on the kid’s face, which he figured detracted from the badassery of the costume.   
  
Well, there was no way to slink down the stairs dressed up on the outside like this. So, hidden Speedo be-damned, Chuck fumbled with the top button of the duster and reached behind his backside to tug on the skimpy fabric that had already climbed into his crack. Then he lifted his head. “Not taking off the coat,” he grumbled to his lover.   
  
“You will,” Casey informed him. It was hard to say no or argue or think when his voice rumbled the way it did.   
  
Chuck cleared his throat. “We’ll see.” Since the bag had included an authentic plastic-y rifle, the kid rested it across his shoulders and hooked one arm around it, borrowing Casey’s Walk with Attitude. But, hell. The tough guy pose was impossible to pull off with his junk constrained in less fabric than a tea cozy.   
  
“Hey.” Finding another use for the rifle, he poked Casey’s back as his boyfriend set Clara down when they got to the kitchen. “What is this?” he asked in a hushed voice. “I get the part underneath, okay? Skimpy and, uh –”  
  
“Lots of long-ass leg?” Casey copped a feel.  
  
“Ah. Y-yes. But the coat, the boots. All black. I don’t get it.”  
  
Casey looked over to where Morgan showed Clara her pumpkin-shaped blinking safety necklace, knowing for the next thirty seconds, neither would pay attention to them. “Bounty Hunter,” he told Chuck against his ear.   
  
“Bounty hunter? But who am I chasing?”  
  
Casey just gave him a look. “Know something, kid? It still takes the fun out of it when I have to explain this shit to you.”  
  
“You mean … you’re the fugitive.”   
  
A criminal who needed to be… subdued? And he should not have a hard on already. No.   
  
Holding his breath, Chuck slid his hand into one of the pockets. “Would that explain these?” He held up a pair of handcuffs and dangled them in front of Casey’s eyes. “They were in the bag. Not an accident?”  
  
“Put those _away_. Jesus. You want Clara to see those?” Though she was fully focused with the on and off switch of the mini strobe she’d be wearing. “Later, Bartowski.”  
  
Chuck gave his boyfriend a confused look, but after a second or two, he tilted a brow at him. “If I have the handcuffs, and I’m the bounty hunter, that means … I’m going to … well.” God, why was this so hard to say? “Are you going to let me …?”  
  
“Let you …?” Casey’s voice was low and sly, his lips brushing his hair. “You wanna be … top dog for once, kid?”  
  
“Well … I ….” Chuck adjusted the hat, and who knew wearing a badass black Stetson would give him the balls to have this conversation? “Yes. Um, if you would?”  
  
“You know how to use that?” Casey replied, a chuckle tacked onto the end. Blue eyes shining, he winked. Chuck’s brain began to scramble in translation, so he wasn’t certain if he was talking about the cuffs or –  
  
“So!” Chuck said, too loudly, rubbing his hands together. “We should get moving, hmm? We don’t want to keep Miss Clara out too late, do we, and whoa. Her uncles are _beat_ after watching this little bundle of energy for the past two days. Right, Casey? Let’s –”  
  
“It’s five fifty!” Morgan said. “We haven’t even started.”   
  
“Keep it in your skirt, Bartowski,” Casey breathed out the side of his mouth, and gave him a discreet squeeze on the backside.   
  
“That’s not helping. And it’s not a skirt.”  
  
Casey leered, long enough to get in another pinch, and became innocently pleasant when he walked over to Clara, getting down on his haunches. _“¿Quieres un caramelo?”  
_  
The baby-calf smile threatened to split her face. _“Si!”_  
  
Morgan shook his head, incredulous. “Man, how does she do that? She already knows more Spanish than I do!”  
  
“Made your mother proud, eh?”   
  
“Casey.” When Casey turned to the kid, Chuck gave him the _be polite_ look.   
  
Casey narrowed his eyes, glaring at both of them.   
  
“Wow. How do you do that, dude? Your German Shepherd _can_ be tamed.”  
  
“Uh, I wouldn’t push it, Morgan,” Chuck said quickly, slipping his fingers under Casey’s holster to hold him back. “Why don’t you take Clara’s hand and we can –”  
  
Casey’s reaction was swift and immediate. He stepped between Morgan and Clara, making the smaller man bounce off his chest when he couldn’t put on the brakes fast enough. “You touch that hand,” Casey said, glancing down at the plush white horns, “and … _Я должен сломать тебя.”  
_  
Morgan stumbled backwards. “Oh, my G– Dolph Lundgren,” he managed. “Casey’s commie clone!”  
  
“Easy, Morgan.” Chuck knew his boyfriend was fluent in at least a dozen languages, so bullying Morgan with a death threat from the Reagan era didn’t faze him. Instead, he huffed. “The last of the classic ones.”  
  
“Rocky IV,” they sighed in agreement.   
  
“Nerdgasm out,” Casey ordered, taking the toddler’s tiny hand in his. “Ignore them, Clara.”  
  
“Oh. Wait!” Chuck tensed, reaching out to stop a six-foot-four wall of muscle before Casey could get to the door. Whoa. His mind had to be stuck back in the Bounty Hunter with Handcuffs conversation – _oh my God_ – to forget such important details. “First, a picture to send to Ellie.” Everyone smiled and cooperated, so that was off the list. “ _And_ Ellie’s Approved List of Trick or Treat Homes.”  
  
Casey stiffened. “Really,” he said, now suspicious. “I’ve already vetted the apartments. The usual: background checks, credit card expenditures of the past month, any unconventional hobbies –”  
  
“Is he serious?”  
  
“Afraid so, Morgan.” Maybe he was enjoying this part too much, but Chuck waggled the slip of paper in the air. “Looks like Ellie was one step ahead of you this time, _Uncle John_. She wrote it out. Hand drawn blueprint included.”  
  
Casey snatched the paper before Chuck could flinch. “Let me see that.” A quick scan, and he let out a snort. “Amateur. Pen?” He held out an expectant hand. Morgan slapped one in his palm. “Okay … what do we have … Heh. Cuba Friendship Committee.” A scratch of the pen. “War Resisters League.” Scratch. “Feminist Majority Foundation.” He grunted. Then scratched. “Greenpeace, ACLU, Rainforest Action Network, Occupier, Sierra Club – no brainers. And finally.” _Heavy_ scratch. “ _Democrat_.”  
  
“Hey. Just a minute. You do realize you’re in California. With your _vetting_ process, she can’t even trick or treat at her own Uncle’s house!”  
  
“One of her Uncles,” Casey corrected.  
  
“Who does this leave?” Chuck looked over his shoulder at the Approved Stops list, and gaped. “Mr. Ellerby? The rightwing gun nut in 501?!”  
  
Casey, already peeling away the top three quarters of the paper, paused to eye him. “Let’s roll,” he said.  
  
-x-  
  
“Wow. Just wow.” It took some rearranging of his trembling limbs, to say nothing of his watery knees and locked elbows, but he managed to dislodge himself without landing on top of his boyfriend’s stomach. A success.   
  
“Are you gonna –”  
  
“I just have to say …. Wow,” Chuck said again, heaving a breath. He thought he should be doing _something_ or at least offering a back rub or chocolates or anything else besides making intelligible noises of sated horniness, but his heart was going to hammer through his chest after _that_. “God … who knew? Wow.”  
  
Casey lifted his head off the pillow, and even in the dark, Chuck could make out the smirk. “Bartowski?”  
  
Turning to him, Chuck kissed the underside of his arm, all muscle and hard flesh – it was right there against his cheek, after all. “Y-yeah?”  
  
“If I knew that putting your dick _there_ would shut you up, or hell, at least come close, I woulda let you _months_ ago.”  
  
“That was … so ….God, incredible.” He lay on his back, the bare skin of his shoulder pressed to Casey’s upper arm. “I … okay, I didn’t know … but you’re really so ….”  
  
“Just spit it out. Are you trying to say _tight_?”  
  
Chuck rolled onto his side and propped himself on his elbow, looking down at him. He grinned. “I was going to say perfect, but … yes, I guess you could say that, too.” His forehead creased. “I think I should be asking you … I mean, was that …?”  
  
“God, are you really gonna ask if it was good for me?”  
  
“I … _guess_ not.” The lop-sided smile grew dazzling. “Besides, there’s physical evidence that it was.”  
  
“Are you going to stare at me with that goofy look, or go get a tissue?” Casey jiggled his wrists to demonstrate his predicament. “Or you could lick it if you don’t want to get up.”  
  
“Always resourceful, Major. I like that about you. But no.” He kissed the tip of his nose and fetched a few tissues to take care of the aftermath. And now that his boyfriend was stretched out under him, he gave in to the urge to sprawl out on top; bony knees to flat bellies to chests. Meeting his eyes a little shyly, Chuck trailed his fingers up Casey’s bicep, back and forth, and then brushed the flesh of his manacled wrists. “Are you … okay?”  
  
Casey shifted his legs. “Wasn’t the first time, Bartowski.”  
  
Chuck’s head jolted back and he studied his face. “Oh … I thought … why didn’t you ever say anything?”  
  
“Do I ask about your five year drought?”  
  
“Point.” Chuck’s thumb skimmed under the cool metal, touching, soothing, and his eyebrows drew down in concentration. “But your history sounds much more interesting than mine.”  
  
“Only twice. That’s all you need to know.”  
  
Half-satisfied with getting a sliver of information out of him, Chuck rested his chin between his pecs. “Okay. It’s none of my business. Got it.” He paused. “So. Do you think we’ll ever be able to –”  
  
“Nah.”  
  
“You didn’t let me finish.”  
  
“You were going to ask about doing this again.”  
  
Chuck frowned briefly, but who was he kidding? He couldn’t be miffed right now. “All right, yes, that was my question, and … no?”  
  
“You heard me.”  
  
He kept his chin pressed to his chest and traced his jaw. “I guess … I’m good with that, since – well, since you flat-out exhaust me on a daily basis, but …?”  
  
“Easy one.” The corner of his mouth curled up suggestively. “Knew you were curious. Wanted to … feel what it was like for once. Also knew you’d figure out the obvious. I like to do the work, and you like it when I do the work.”   
  
“I’m … finding it hard to argue with that.” His fingertips whispered over Casey’s palm, then fingers twined with his, and Chuck lowered his head to kiss him. “Guilty as charged.”  
  
Casey lifted his head to take another. “If you find the key to these, I’ll be able to arrest you.”  
  
“Not only is that a cheesy line, it’s one thirty in the morning.” Chuck grinned down at him. “But you’ve earned the key.” He sat up until he straddled his boyfriend and looked around the room. “So, where is it?’  
  
“In the wussy tight pants you bought me. Front pocket.”   
  
Chuck climbed off him and dug through it. Then the other one. He switched to the back pockets on the off chance Casey had screwed up. Like that would happen? “Uh, I hate to tell you, but –”  
  
“Look harder.”  
  
“I am! It’s not in here.”  
  
“Did you lose it?”  
  
“It was in _your_ pants. How could I have lost it?”  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
“Hey now. If the baby were here –”  
  
“Which she is not, since she’s in a chocolate coma in the spare room –”  
  
“– you’d be putting a dollar in the curse jar.”  
  
“Just find the fucking key!”  
  
Chuck held up two fingers. “Another dollar. And you better be thinking of Plan B, super spy, because the key is not here.”  
  
“I can break my thumb.”  
  
“I’m not going to stand here and watch you break your thumb on Halloween!” Chuck tossed the pants down and raked a hand through his hair. “Plan C?”  
  
“Shit.” A few seconds later, Casey yanked on the cuffs, and for once, Chuck was thankful the headboard was sturdy. “Hope you enjoyed it, Bartowski. The spare keys are at Castle.”  
  
“Okay, then. I’ll go to Castle.” Without thinking, Chuck started to move for the dresser to get some boxers. But before he could go a step, a pair of long legs swung out and circled his hips, dragging him down in a classic scissors pose.   
  
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”  
  
“What are you doing? I told you – Castle! I can’t breathe.”  
  
His thighs loosened a smidgen. “So let me get this straight, _Uncle_ Chuck.” Casey’s voice took on that sneering edge that told Chuck he had really screwed up. “You’re going to leave Clara at home with a man cuffed to a headboard. And what happens if someone breaks in? The house catches on fire, or –”  
  
“Oh, my God. I didn’t think about that.” Chuck squirmed between his legs and sat up. “Now what?”  
  
“Walker.”  
  
Chuck gaped. “Are you – no! We can’t tell Sarah!”  
  
“Genius. Do the math. We’re stuck here. She’s the only one who can get into Castle.”  
  
The kid buried his head in his hands. “Oh, fuck.”  
  
“Dollar.”  
  
“I really hate you right now.” Chuck lifted his eyes and caught sight of his phone. “I’ll call her.”  
  
“Text her.”  
  
“What?” Thumb hovering over the screen, Chuck squinted down at him. “She’s sound asleep right now.”  
  
“She’ll get it in the morning and drop the key off.”  
  
“I hate to point out the obvious, but you’re _cuffed to the headboard.”  
_  
“I’ve spent two weeks holed up in a wall. I’ll last a few more hours. Get some shut eye.”  
  
When Chuck couldn’t stifle a yawn, he rested his head, dark tendrils of hair, against Casey’s chest again and said, “Are you sure you’re okay?”  
  
In reply, a leg wrapped around Chuck’s middle, and the kid couldn’t get enough of the nipping and kissing. When Casey pulled back, his eyes darkened. “I just keep thinking about the wake-up blow job I’m gonna get to offset the chafing of my wrists, and I’m fine.”  
  
-x-  
  
“Oh, Go- _ph_. That’s Sarah.”  
  
“She can wait.”  
  
“You’ll have to take a rain check,” Chuck said, scrambling for a pair of boxers. “If she keeps ringing the doorbell, she’ll wake up Cl –”  
  
“Go! Move it!”  
  
On the way out, Chuck leaned over to steal a kiss before scurrying down the hallway, the stairs, and sliding to a stop at the front door. He took a moment to appraise his appearance. “Oh, hell.” No shirt. Rumpled boxers. The scent of hot, dirty sex, lingering on his skin. He should’ve at least combed his –  
  
“Hey, Chuck.”   
  
“Gah! How did you –”  
  
“I have a key,” Sarah replied, flashing a wicked smile. “In fact, I have two keys.” She peered past his shoulder and arched a perfect brow. “I hear you have … an imprisonment emergency?”  
  
“You know, in the weeks and months to come, when you’re getting copious amounts of mileage out of this running joke, we may find it funny, but right now? I just need that key!” Seeing that she was now twirling the handcuff key on her finger, Chuck held out his palm and pointed his best brown-eyed look at her. “Please?”  
  
“Sorry, Chuck.” The smile blossomed wider. “That only works on your boyfriend.”  
  
Chuck glared. “Just give me the key.”  
  
Sarah tilted her head in a pert little move – and instead reached for her iPhone. “John Casey cuffed to a headboard again. Tsk. Do you really think I’m going to pass up the opportunity to add to my collection?”   
  
“Sarah, you should really – where are you going? Please stop!”  
  
But Agent Walker was on a mission. With a simple feint and dodge, she was around him, and began to take the stairs two at time. “Is it the lucky clovers?” she wondered, her voice slightly muffed by laughter. “Or something else this time?”  
  
Uh-oh.   
  
Chuck’s eyes widened. He engaged his brain and legs to take chase. “Sarah, I was trying to –”  
  
“AH!” A high-pitched noise burst from the bedroom, one that the kid pegged somewhere on the spectrum between a shriek and a gasp. He watched as Sarah Walker barreled out the doorway and into the hall with her hand slapped over her mouth to stop any further girly sounds from escaping.   
  
“You’ll wake the baby!” a familiar voice growled.  
  
Sarah removed her hand, sucked air, and hissed, “Why didn’t you tell me he was naked?”  
  
Chuck glowered. “Seriously, Sarah? Think about it. I’m not a complete idiot! If I have him cuffed to a headboard, I’m not going to leave his friggin’ boxers on him!”  
  
A dirty little laugh floated out to the hallway. “Heh. You should be thanking me, Walker. Forgot what one of those looks like, eh?” Smugness resonated in his tone. “Now, get out before you wake Clara.”   
  
Sarah narrowed her eyes and slapped the key in Chuck’s hand. “Chuck? Got some advice for you.”  
  
He wasn’t going to like this, but had ask. “Just say it, okay?”  
  
She tipped her chin and sunk her teeth in her lip; her gaze took in every inch from the messy hair to the wrinkled boxers. Then pausing, she sniffed. “You probably want to get the _eau d’ naughty night_ off yourselves before Clara has to get a whiff of you. Both of you.”   
  
Chuck crossed his arms over his chest while the blush crept down to his stomach.   
  
She smiled at that, winked, and left.  
  
-x-  
  
“Chuck!” Two sharp raps.   
  
By the time the half-asleep kid placed his hand on the knob, the surveillance camera confirmed what his instincts had already told him. None other than Ellie Bartowski stood at their door, wearing jeans, a dark blue top … and a perturbed expression.   
  
He loved his sister. Really, he did. But with that look, he vaguely wondered if it was too late to pretend they had the early shift today.   
  
“Chuck,” she blurted as soon as he opened the door. “Thank God.” Ellie’s eyes cut from her brother to Casey. She slowed. “Oh. John. You’re here.”  
  
Okay, so maybe she was rattled if she somehow had forgotten her baby brother was shacking up with the scariest man they had ever laid eyes on.   
  
“Ellie,” Casey replied. Unlike Chuck, he had just completed his morning five-mile run, or surveillance patrol as he preferred, and unlike Chuck, he was not wearing pajama pants and a sleep t-shirt. No, he had the nerve to look flushed and wide awake. There he stood, sweat trickling in a heated path down his cheeks and neck, bands of interesting-looking perspiration forming wet patterns through the front of his –  
  
“Chuck … did I wake you?”  
  
“Oh. No, no, no. It’s good to see you, sis. Really. And we’ve missed Clara since you got back a few days ago.” Chuck scratched the back of his head and smoothed his pillow hair. “We were just, um –” He flicked a look at Casey, post-run sweat distraction and all, to his rumpled sleep pants, and decided that Ellie was smart enough to know that one of them might be lying. “What’s … what’s going on?”   
  
Whatever was on her mind, it was making that little worry line appear between her brows. The same worry line that told the kid his big sister had not knocked on the door of their apartment for a social visit. “Well, it is about Clara.”  
  
Casey, without taking his eyes off of Ellie, set down the eggs and frying pan he had pulled from the cupboard. Trying to appear uninvolved and aloof, he put his hands on his hips, but this had his full attention. “Clara?” he rumbled.  
  
“El, what is it?”   
  
“No, no. Everything’s fine now.” Ellie placed a palm on her forehead. “It’s just …. God, how do I –”  
  
“Sis, breathe.” Chuck brought his hands up, palms flat. “Remain calm. Now tell me what’s up?”   
  
“Okay. Here it is.” Ellie pushed her hair back, looking uncomfortable. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but … is there any chance … you took Clara to a house that wasn’t on the list?”  
  
“The … list?” This was too much information before eight a.m. on his day off from Buy More Hell. “I guess I –”  
  
“Chuck. The _Approved_ List.” She shook her head that this needed explaining. “We covered this, sweetie.”  
  
The list that Casey had altered to remove liberal ‘ _nut cakes, tree huggers, and feminazis’_? Crap.   
  
Chuck nodded, proud that he was holding it in because usually the look on her face provoked him to confess his sins. It had worked guarded secrets out of him since third grade. “That list. Mm-hmm. John and I were just talking about the clever vetting process. He was even commenting on candidates that didn’t quite – ah.”   
  
Chuck looked to the side, startled. Casey was suddenly next to him, arms folded over his damp clinging t-shirt after getting the dig into his ribcage. “You know he’ll keep going until you just tell us, right?” Casey’s quiet voice had exactly the affect he intended. “What about the list, Ellie?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just a little ….” Ellie’s face was serious as they both watched her dig into the back pocket of her jeans. “But I found this in Clara’s pocket. In her baby cow costume under the udders? Anyway –”  
  
“Really. Who knew there were pockets under the little udders?”  
  
“Chuck, who would … what kind of a person would let a child find this?” She fished out the object and held it level with their eyes, a thin rod of steel with a circular loop on one end. “Devon, well, he thinks it’s a … key to –”  
  
“Handcuffs.” Chuck’s blurt was out of his mouth before he could breathe. In his head, he only saw an image of a sweet dimpled grin and chubby hands. “I can’t believe I’m not the worst uncle on the planet right now. Do they hand out awards for that? Include it as a little blurb in the pamphlet at your funeral?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Ellie, I am so sorry. I lost it that night. We … thought it was in the pants pocket, and that Morgan took it by accident. Oh, my God. She could’ve swallowed it – what if she –”  
  
“Slow down, baby brother. Look at this.” She gave it a little wave. “She’d have to be a python to swallow something like that, okay? It’s shiny. That’s why she wanted it.”  
  
“But you trusted me – _us_ , I meant us, and … I blew it.” He made himself look Ellie in the eyes. “I promise, El, the next time you let us watch her, maybe when she’s sixteen and can drive, we’ll put her in a Hazmat suit, or one of those blow-up Sumo wrestling costumes so that nothing –”  
  
“Listen to me.” Ellie caught his cheeks between her palms. “Though I appreciate the fact that you are dying inside at the thought of what could’ve happened, really, it’s not necessary.” She smiled, brushed her thumb over his cheek bone before letting go. “I know you would never let anything happen to Clara, Chuck. It’s all part of being an uncle, or a mom. You learn, you move on.”  
  
“I’m still an idiot.”  
  
“Chuck, can I tell you a something?” Ellie nibbled on her bottom lip. “I did a stupid thing once.”  
  
“You? Mother Perfect? Organic only, non-fossil fueled, Baby Einstein, multiplication table flashcards and French class _Mother Perfect?”_  
  
Ellie punched his arm playfully. “It wasn’t French. It was Spanish.” She angled a look at Casey, who had backed up a step now that the sibling interaction was getting touchy-feely. “It was at Trader Joe’s.”  
  
“Trader Joe’s? As in the grocery store?”  
  
Casey grunted his opinion of that question. “Let her talk, Bartowski.”  
  
Great. That was his _I heard it already on the surveillance_ face. The bugs at his sister’s … bugged him, but now was not the time. “Okay, El. Shoot.”  
  
Ellie grimaced. “It was one of those days after a long shift,” she said. “I picked up Clara from daycare and I knew we had nothing for dinner, so I ran in to pick up a few things. Well ….” Faced with her recollection, she rubbed the back of her neck. “I didn’t realize the seat belt in the cart was too loose. Those little dumb straps they have? And that a curious eighteen month old would be interested in stewed tomatoes. I … was looking for something – I don’t even remember what it was – and when I turned around, Clara was standing – and reaching.”  
  
Chuck slowly dropped the hand that had landed on the small of Casey’s back. “She’s … curious, isn’t she?” He gave her a pained smile. “So, obviously … she was okay?”  
  
“Yes, I suppose,” Ellie said. “But she started to fall. Right then. Before I could move or … I caught her arm …. It was only a small bump on her forehead.”   
  
“Oh. Ow, El.”   
  
“Well, it was the same as a knife in my heart, you know?” Ellie frowned as the memory flitted by, her hand leaving the key on the table. “What I’m saying … is that you’re still a good uncle.” She let out a breath, and her mouth twitched. “Or two good uncles. Even if you let her have a key to hand – _really, Chuck?_ Where did –”   
  
“Um, Morgan brought the handcuffs in a –”   
  
“Morgan? He – _oh_.”  
  
“No! No, no. Whatever you’re thinking, no. He brought them for us, but he didn’t have anything to do with – uh, they were mine – I mean ours, I mean – _ow_.” He was reminded once again that his boyfriend had sharp elbows. “Okay, being quiet now,” Chuck said quickly.  
  
Which was good. Because everyone needed a moment to be really weirded-out. It was one of those revelations: the family inquisition that crossed the line.   
  
“You know … I probably don’t need you to ….” Ellie’s voice trailed off with a cough. “Anyway, to end the story, when I took her to daycare the next day, they … asked me about it. I think that they thought … God, I can’t even say it.”  
  
“Sounds like S.O.P.”  
  
The siblings turned. Casey, who had heard enough when he learned Clara was fine, went back to toweling his neck and face.   
“What?” Chuck asked, tripping over Ellie’s voice asking the same.  
  
First, Casey rolled his eyes for the two civilians in the room. “Standard Operating Procedure. Of course they’re going to ask you. They probably thought you’re a –”   
  
“But ….” Ellie swallowed hard. “Oh my God. I –”  
  
“Wow, _Casey … sweetie_ …. That’s _helpful_ ,” Chuck broke in. Meaning, don’t add another iota of the law enforcement point of view to this conversation.   
  
Eyeing him, Casey went back to toweling his arms.  
  
“I should … go,” Ellie said. “I know it’s your day off and … I know you have ... things planned.” Right then, her eyes shifted to the table where she had set the key –   
  
– making Chuck want to die on the spot. “Ellie, it’s uh … not what –”  
  
“Have … a nice day, guys.” She backpedaled and gave a small wave. “ _Try_ to be good.” Before they could answer, she was out the door, crossing the courtyard at a brisk pace.   
  
“Did you see that?” Chuck closed the door and fell against it, looking to the ceiling. “My sister _fled_. That was fleeing, Casey! She’s going to think –”   
  
“– she raised a naughty boy?”  
  
“Is this funny?” Chuck grumbled. “Because if I didn’t know better, I’d swear that’s a smile on your face.”  
  
The smile broadened. “You just did us a favor.”  
  
“I did? How?”  
  
Casey shrugged. “Next time your sister wants to come barging in, she’s gonna remember this and call first.”  
  
Chuck made a face at him. “Nice. Glad you could see a positive.” He glanced over in time to see Casey swipe the key. “Why’re you taking that?”   
  
Twirling the tiny loop on his finger, Casey put a hand on the door next to Chuck’s head, leaning in close. His other hand dropped from his hip, and as an answer, Chuck felt a warm large palm on his backside, claiming a strategic location on his left ass cheek. A proprietary squeeze made him jolt. “It’s mine,” Casey told him.  
  
“Hey! Watch it.”  
  
The agent grunted. “I’ll be in the shower.” With his morning scruff scraping his boyfriend’s neck, he gave a little bite. “You could use one, too, eh?”  
  
Maybe it was a bad idea to trust him when he smiled like that. “Uh, can I have the key back first?”   
  
Casey pressed in and he didn’t answer. Well, unless Chuck counted what was now hot and hard against his hip.   
  
“Oh. Now?” Chuck leaned away from the door and tilted his head at him, curious. “Usually the presence of my family members has the opposite effect. But the key? Give it to me.”   
  
Casey grinned at him and slipped a strong finger into the waistband of his cotton sleep pants. Tugging insistently. “Halloween is over, kid. That means it stays in my pocket.”  
  
He wasn’t likely to complain, being tugged by the drawstring up the stairs, since Casey was the one that had to walk backwards while doing that _thing_ with his tongue below Chuck’s ear. Standing on the step below him, Chuck inhaled hard through this nose; the warmth of his breath gave goose bumps, his teeth moved for his throat, leaving a light scrape, an imprint Casey licked. He took his time teasing it, and dragged a hand over the skin of his stomach ….  
  
Still, he had to ask. “My … _ah_. My sister is scarred for life, isn’t she?”  
  
Casey lifted his head, and down his side, a couple of fingers glided past the waist of his sleep pants. “Well, right now she’s picturing her little brother shackled to a headboard.” Before Chuck could gasp his opinion of that, he bit down on the smooth long tendon and added, “Something wrong with that?”  
  
“Oh, God.” Chuck closed his eyes. “Please stop. Oh, not that …. _Mmm_. That you can keep doing.”  
  
“Yeah?” A long, slow inhale at his temple, and a strong hand wrapped around his wrist. Casey stood over him on the top stair, brushing a few overgrown curls back behind his ear. “C’mere.”   
  
They kissed, a hungry press of lips, dissolving any of Chuck’s thoughts of resistance. With inhibitions forgotten, the kid used both hands to take hold of his face, tasting just his lips, his teeth grazing over his slightly parted mouth, little begging kisses. Unbearably sweet. Strong hands explored, stroking his knuckles along his ribcage, fingers trailing around his hips, sliding to the front, and oh, God. _There_. Massaging, coaxing, and every time he did, Chuck followed.  
  
“Y-you know something?” Chuck touched his fingertips to his lover’s cheek, and the crooked grin went from slow heat to blazing. “I just realized something. Agent John Casey was pickpocketed by a two year old.”  
  
“Don’t start now, Bartowski. I’m busy.” And then to show him, he sucked on Chuck’s tongue, working a hungry groan from him. Reflexively, the hand he used to hang onto Casey splayed against his chest, fingertips digging in, the moisture from his sweat-soaked shirt pressed to his palm.   
  
Slow, steady; teasing his mouth until the kid felt a tremble. But Chuck pulled back with a half-murmur, lips wet with saliva, smiling up at him. “You took something from her, too, I noticed.”  
  
Casey looked down, puzzled. “Like what?”  
  
“Well.” Not that he wanted to stop kissing, but he made up for it by letting Chuck do _this_ with his palms … on the way down his chest. “You’ll have to do that again, but I swear you snuck a stash of _caramelo_ from Clara. Something you sampled this morning. Twizzlers. Strawberry, in fact.”  
  
His boyfriend wasn’t going to argue, and with the kid’s palm firmly pressing against the presence of his erection … well, who was he kidding? Casey was going to win this one, anyway. “Take another taste.” Not waiting, the larger man dipped his head and nipped at Chuck’s mouth, his collarbone, skimming along the fine line of muscle to his shoulder. “Coordinated enough to keep your hand there and walk?” he breathed hot on his neck.   
  
The kid wet his throat, letting Casey feel his Adam’s apple bob in nervousness. “Y-yeah.”  
  
“Show me.”  
  
Chuck closed his eyes and smiled a little. He flexed his fingers, having no plans to remove them. Irresistible and warm, the kisses backed away, and if he wanted Casey’s lips there, he’d have to keep walking. So he did.  
  
Having the key didn’t seem important anymore.   
  
Still, he wondered how long it would take Casey to figure it out. Being pickpocketed by a toddler was one thing, but it was probably not often – or ever – that he had been pickpocketed by a nimble-fingered nerd.   
**  
**-x- End -x-**  
**  



End file.
